


Maskere

by kurage_hime



Category: Original Work
Genre: Father/Son Incest, Identity Reveal, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Multiple Orgasms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-14
Updated: 2018-06-14
Packaged: 2019-05-16 04:51:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14804705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kurage_hime/pseuds/kurage_hime
Summary: A young prince disguises himself in order to seduce his father, the king.





	Maskere

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Eione](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eione/gifts).



The royal bed was the most lavishly appointed in all the land – foreign silks and brocade, brown bear pelts and eiderdown pillows – and Sven reveled in the sensuousness of it. The furs were soft against his bare skin, and the pillows retained the intoxicating scent of the body of the Widower King himself.

The King had not yet arrived at his chambers, but he would soon. Very, very soon. It was already past nightfall, and the fire blazing in the hearth cast a warm, welcoming, yellow-orange light.

Although he had refused to remarry after the death of his Queen, King Harald did not sleep alone. A seemingly endless procession of boys had shared his bed since her passing, all of them young, nubile, athletic…and _masked_ to conceal their identities. Well, it was more a veil than a mask, to be honest, but it was the principle of the thing which mattered: King Harald wanted to fuck with abandon, not fall in love, and if he could not see the faces of those he fucked, the reasoning went, he would not become attached. Any boy who tried to woo him with honeyed words from behind the mask had his tongue cut out.

Furthermore, and more importantly, King Harald would never get any bastards on a boy. There would be only one legitimate heir to the throne, and one legitimate heir was more than enough for everyone, thank you kindly.

In any case, this was to be Sven’s first night with the King, and he was already aching – aching! – with nigh unendurable anticipation.

He’d paid off this season’s Maske-boy with a butchered reindeer buck from the royal herd and three horns of spring mead. That boy would be staying away from the king’s bedchamber tonight. Instead, he and his family would be feasting better than they ever had in their poor, impoverished little lives.

 _And so_ , thought Crown Prince Sven, sole heir to the throne of the Kingdom, _will I_. He’d seen fifteen winters, and he was more than ready for the big cock that had made him.

Yes, Sven had been dreaming of that cock, wondering what it would look like erect. For the past four winters, it had been at the center of every lonely, erotic fantasy. It was long and thick, even when flaccid, blue-veined alabaster in a nest of coarse ginger curls. He’d seen it many times in the sauna. 

That had been back when his mother had been alive and he’d been truly innocent, though. Since her tragic passing, his father had been cold, distant, preferring the company of his Maske-boys to Sven and leaving Sven to the indifferent care of his personal servants and tutors. The neglect made Sven yearn to be with his father…

…in every conceivable regard.

He wondered what his father would want to do first. Would he want Sven to use his hands, or would he want to use Sven’s mouth? Or maybe he’s want to use Sven’s asshole – Sven’s own cock bounced eagerly on his belly at that prospect, and he almost moaned aloud at the intensity of his own aroused response to the mere thought—

“Maske-boy.”

At last! His father had arrived! He was standing at the foot of the bed!

“Prepare me.” The command was curt.

Sven blinked and was forced to bite his tongue so as not to ask for clarification. A second’s reflection was all that was necessary to understand his father’s meaning anyway. He rose from the bed, ignoring his own semi-hard dick, and knelt before his father. With his left hand, he parted his veil just enough to expose his mouth, and with his right hand, he grasped the shaft of his father’s cock and guided it toward his lips.

Oh, the texture—! And the taste—! And _the size_ —! This was so much better than he’d dreamt!! His father had hardened in a matter of moments, and Sven was certain there were stallions in the stables that would hang their heads in shame were they to be forced into a comparison. His mouth was watering with hungry anticipation. He slid the foreskin back so that he could tongue the glossy crown and the slit directly, and then he began to swallow his father’s cock whole.

He sucked and bobbed his head, enthusiasm trumping inexperience, and somewhere above his father moaned. Sven moaned a wordless reply, like a starving beggar at a banquet, and his father must have felt the vibration on his cock because he seemed to swell even bigger inside Sven’s mouth. He began to jerk forwards and backwards, just a little, like he was going to fuck himself straight into Sven’s stomach. Greatly daring, Sven reached around to grasp the flexing muscles of his father’s ass—

His father pulled away. “Are you well-greased?” he asked. The question was as curt as his command earlier had been, but Sven thought he heard a hint of breathlessness, of urgency, in it.

Sven nodded.

“Good. In bed. On your back.” More commands.

Sven obeyed without hesitation, spreading his legs wide and displaying his glistening hole once he was in position – unabashed invitation.

His father grunted – mild surprise at this new Maske-boy’s enthusiasm, perhaps? – and got into position.

That first, intimate touch was nearly enough to throw Sven over the edge into annihilating ecstasy all by itself, but the penetration, no other word for it, _hurt_. The head of his father’s cock felt impossibly large, and pain was razor-sharp, agonizing. He was being split open, torn, ripped apart—

That blunt, flaring cockhead popped through the ring of muscle. Sven gasped for breath, feeling like he’d been punched in the gut, but his father didn’t stop, and with a long, queasy, sickening slide, he was in the rest of the way, buried in his son, balls deep.

Sven might have lost consciousness briefly, he wasn’t certain, but when he did manage to return to himself, his father was already fucking him with determination. The pain had receded and was being replaced by something akin to pleasure. His father’s cock didn’t feel too big anymore; instead, it felt just right, stretching and stroking and prodding him in all the places that made his own dick throb and jump and leak.

Sven canted his hips upward so that he could meet his father’s thrusts halfway, their flesh connecting with a ringing _thwap_ each time. He wrapped his legs high around his father’s back and brought his hands back to his father’s muscular buttocks. His father allowed it now, and Sven was delighted. Maybe his father would also allow—

With a strength that neither of them had known he possessed, Sven flipped his father over onto his back, still joined, straddled his hips, and began to ride that magnificent cock in earnest. His father’s eyes were wide with surprise, but the change in position seemed to increase his pleasure – he was perspiring heavily, and his expression was contorted with pleasure. He was shuddering a little.

Sven was shuddering too. He wasn’t even touching himself, and yet his pleasure was building, building, building, and ah, so close, he was whimpering, tiny, high-pitched sounds, so close, so close, so close, aaahhh, there, there, _there_ , and peaking, _peaking_ —

“Father!” he cried out as he came.

“Sven?! What are you—?! No!!”

His father tore Sven’s mask away and desperately tried to push him off, but it was too late. Far, far, far too late. His father was staring directly at him, eyes huge, and coming. Inside him. Inside Sven. Spilling his royal seed deep inside his one and only beloved son and heir.

“By the Gods, _nooooo—!!_ ”

Sven crashed headlong into a second, and even more violent, orgasm. They roared together, endlessly.

 

* * *

 

“Why, Sven? Why?!” his father asked agitatedly as he paced back and forth in front of his chamber’s hearth. He’d been pacing like this for over an hour.

Sven merely smiled, snuggled deeper into his father’s bed, and pretended to be a mute Maske-boy. His father’s semen was dripping down the insides of his thighs, and the mingled smells of their incestuous sex permeated the bedding. He wasn’t a virgin anymore, and he had everything he wanted. In this particular moment, that was all that mattered.

Besides, his father was already profoundly attached to him – they were father and son, after all! Love of a different kind, Sven figured, would require but another short ride or two or three on that big, _exquisite_ cock…


End file.
